Change of Heart
by DarcieLeeds
Summary: He'd always had a special fondness for the human heart... TenRose.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. I am just borrowing… _

_Note: This takes place immediately after Rise of the Cybermen._

* * *

He'd always had a special fondness for the human heart. He rather liked its simplicity of design. It was functional, relatively easy to repair, and, with a bit of care, could maintain itself for nearly one hundred years. It paled in comparison, of course, to his hearts; they were infinitely more complex than a human's and much sturdier. They seemed much less affected by emotion, too. Perhaps that was because he usually managed to suppress his deeper feelings, relying upon superficial expression of momentary whims rather than permitting himself to experience trenchant sentiment. Humans could be ridiculously emotional at times, and often he did not possess the patience to tolerate such behaviour. With Rose, though, it was different.

The Doctor knew that Mickey's decision to remain in the parallel universe had affected her deeply. She had lost a longtime friend and sometime lover, and his departure was probably only slightly less traumatic for her than his actual death would have been. The Doctor understood that Mickey would flourish in his new home, and his own feelings for the young man centered primarily upon happiness. But Rose felt only the loss.

The moment she had stepped inside the TARDIS, leaving Mickey outside in the wan London sun, he had known that she was already in mourning. When he'd wrapped his arms around her, he'd felt her human heart pounding against his own chest, emotion fueling the organ's function to a fierce degree. And there had been nothing he could do for her, no simple way for him to assuage her pain. The decision to take her to see her mother had been instantaneous, and he did not regret it.

Rose had spent that first night in Jackie's flat, and he'd told her that she could remain in London as long as she liked. She could call him when she was ready to leave. But this suggestion had been countered with a firm statement that she only needed the one night; she would be fine. Indeed, she'd seemed eager to be off on the next escapade.

So he'd taken her into the vortex while he considered which planet and time would please her the most. He hadn't anticipated the strain the journey to and from the parallel universe had put on his ship. Oh, she'd groaned a bit more than usual when they'd materialized near the Powell Estates, but he'd thought it was just a touch of fatigue. After all, the old girl had very nearly died. Coming back from something like that was bound to put a strain on anyone.

But once in the vortex, he'd realized that materialization would need to wait. The TARDIS was exhausted and required time to rest and recuperate. Spinning gently outside of space and time what just what she needed.

Rose understood, of course. She offered to help, but he told her that all the ship really needed was a respite. Truth be told, the Doctor felt that his human companion would benefit from the same. When they'd left Jackie's flat, Rose had looked tired; he had a strong suspicion that she had slept little that night. But she tried to smile and laugh at his jokes, and he forgot to think about her heart.

* * *

Sometimes Rose was able to forget about it, too. When the Doctor told her a wild tale about escaping pursuit from giant, stalking dandelion puffs by managing to scatter them all into the wind with a great exhalation of air, she giggled at the image that popped into her mind. When he taught her how to play Nruvean checkers, she put most of her mental efforts into beating him three rounds in a row, which, in retrospect was probably much too easy. When he showed her a book with pictures of his home planet, she was enthralled until she remembered that his home was gone, irrevocably and completely. Then her heart ached again.

For several days, she managed to be good company for the Time Lord during a large portion of her waking hours. She listened to his stories, played his games, drank tea and nibbled popcorn. But when she went to her room after many hours of wakefulness, she found that sleep eluded her.

The first night, she'd given up trying to sleep and had wandered back to the Console Room. But the Doctor had seemed worried by her presence, telling her that she needed rest as all humans did and shooing her back to bed. She didn't want to cause him any anxiety or give him any reason to think that she should be elsewhere, so she returned to her room to lie open-eyed upon the bed for much of the night.

The second night she'd had high hopes for slumber. When she'd left the Doctor, she'd barely been able to keep her eyes open. But once she lay down, she thought of Mickey, and when she closed her eyes all she saw was a severed cord dangling helplessly into a bottomless pit, and she knew that he was gone.

The ache in her heart crept up to reside behind her eyes, and it remained there, nudging her with dull pain for the rest of the night. Perhaps she slept for an hour, perhaps for two, or perhaps she really was awake the entire time replaying fuzzy images of Mickey in her mind. But each time she remembered a pleasant few minutes with him, a hollow-voiced, gleaming metal man would thrust its malicious silver hand into the tableau and snatch him away.

Rose made herself stay in her room until her clock showed that eight hours had passed. Less time than that and the Doctor might think she hadn't slept well. If he felt that she couldn't handle the recent events, he might decide to leave her, just as he had Sarah Jane. And she was not prepared to lose another friend.

* * *

Rose entered the console room with a smile on her face. The Doctor glanced up from the screen he was studying.

"Morning," she said in a cheerful voice.

"Morning, Rose. Sleep well?" The question was perfunctory; his attention was focused upon the screen.

He was sure that she responded in the affirmative, and he muttered something akin to "good, good," but his eyes were on the little figures flashing before him.

Rose walked up the ramp to stand beside him. "What's that tell you?"

"Basic power readings," he replied. "They're still fluctuating."

"So we still have t'stay here in the vortex?"

He nodded, only vaguely aware of the tinge of disappointment in her voice. She hovered next to him for several minutes as he tapped at keys and twisted dials. A movement of her hand caught his attention, and he lifted his head to look at her. She was rubbing at her forehead, but her hand dropped quickly once she saw his eyes.

"You okay?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she looked tired. Her eyes were dull, and there was a slackness to her mouth that he'd rarely seen before.

She smiled a bit too broadly. "Yeah, 'course I am. But I could use some coffee. How 'bout you?"

"Little bit of a caffeine addiction, hmm?"

She shrugged. "S'pose so."

"Then go get your fix. You can bring me a cup later, if you want."

"Sure, be glad to."

He returned his attention to the screens, barely aware of her slightly shuffling steps as Rose walked away.

* * *

The coffee did nothing to alleviate her headache. The niggling pain remained, even after two cups. Rose rubbed at her forehead again then set her mug in the sink. There was still some coffee in the pot, so she poured a cup for the Doctor, stirring in one spoonful of raw sugar, just as he liked.

She returned to the console room and set the cup next to him. He was sitting in the jump seat, lost in thought. He had that faraway expression on his face, and she debated for an instant whether or not to disturb him. However, when she reached his side, he looked up at her with a distant smile.

"Here's your coffee," she said. "Didn't mean to interrupt—"

He reached for the mug. "Sorry to keep you stuck here."

"I don't mind." She wanted to say more, to tell him that she was just glad to be with him, to know that he wasn't going to leave her, at least not here and now. Hell, maybe they'd be stuck in the vortex for a long time, and really that would be just fine with her.

Rose yawned.

"Not the most exciting couple of days we've spent, is it?" He grinned apologetically.

"No, it's not that—I'm not bored, really."

His smile vanished. "Tired then? Really, didn't you sleep well last night?"

"Fine, really." Rose didn't like the turn the conversation was taking so she took a step back. "Just need somethin' to do, an' that wardrobe room of yours could use some organization. D'you mind if I have a turn at it?"

"No, go ahead. I need to do some calculations anyway."

She walked down the ramp, purposely infusing her steps with an energy she didn't have. She waited until she'd stepped out into the corridor to rub at her forehead again.

He didn't see Rose again for several hours. She appeared in the doorway some time later bearing sandwiches.

"Thanks," he said as she handed him a hefty tuna salad on rye.

"Thought you could use it," she replied, sitting down next to him.

"Aren't you having one?" he asked between bites.

"Already did."

He nodded and took another bite.

"So what'd the calculations tell you?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Not much more than I already knew. But at least I was able to calculate her recovery rate. We should be able to land somewhere in…" He glanced at the bank of clocks beneath the console, "about thirty-five hours."

She nodded, and he thought her expression brightened a bit. Still, her eyes seemed to lack their usual lustre, and her smile was a bit tight.

"So," he continued, "you get a good night's sleep tonight, and by tomorrow evening we should be on…oh, I don't know… fancy a cup of Xochotal chocolate? The Xochotals brought the cacao plant to Earth in something like two hundred B.C., your time, when they visited South America."

"You're sayin' aliens are responsible for chocolate?"

"Yep. An' that's not all, not by a long shot…"

As he rattled on about the countless extraterrestrial sojourners who'd spent more or less time on Earth, he was only peripherally aware that she rubbed at her forehead whenever he looked away.

* * *

Rose dragged herself out of bed after another very fitful night. Her head still ached, and her eyes were terribly scratchy, but a good, long shower revived her enough to put on a chipper front when she greeted the Doctor an hour later.

He was studying the screens again, but this time he seemed much cheerier.

"Power's coming up," he told her. "It'll still be at least fifteen hours 'til we can materialize, but she's recovering nicely." He gave the console an affectionate pat.

"So, chocolate for supper?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Now that could be a dangerous statement."

She smiled. "Danger's your middle name, isn't it?"

"Beats Marion."

She gave his arm a very light slap. "At least I have a name," she retorted.

He gave a mock humph then said, "Oh, I have a perfectly nice name, but believe me, if I told you it'd just make your head hurt—doesn't work too well on human ears."

Unconsciously, Rose rubbed at her forehead again. "Wouldn't want that," she said.

Suddenly his expression had grown serious, and he was looking at her pointedly. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

She blinked at him. "No," she stammered, "I'm fine. I'm jus' gonna make some coffee."

She hurried down the ramp and out the door, hoping she'd managed to deflect any concerns he might have about her travelling with him.

* * *

He watched her go, suddenly very aware of how fatigued she looked. He hadn't really noticed until her hand had risen to her head to rub at her brow. She'd done that yesterday, too; he remembered in retrospect the little movements she'd made when she thought he wasn't looking.

The Doctor placed his hand against the console. He could feel the gentle vibration of the ship, a reminder of the life contained within her. She'd nearly died, nearly given up her entire essence, but somehow she'd managed to hang on. He'd coaxed her back from one tiny, tenacious circuit. But such a close brush with death was bound to leave some scars. No living thing could experience something so harrowing and fail to feel some lasting effects.

For the TARDIS, is was a loss of power, but she was strong enough to gather it back. All she needed was a little time and a little patience from him.

Humans, though, were a different story. Their fragile hearts and brittle minds could only endure so much. Sometimes the effects were more than transitory. Sometimes patience and time simply were not enough.

The Doctor sank down onto the jump seat and waited for Rose to return, his own hearts heavy as he understood what he had done.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose took her time with the coffee, sipping two cups as slowly as she could then pouring a mug for the Doctor with more care than necessary. Honestly, the sugar didn't require two dozen swipes of the spoon to dissolve into the dark, fragrant beverage, but she kept stirring just the same.

She walked back to the console room with desultory steps, determined to gather her energy and put on a show of vitality once she rejoined him. She paused for a moment outside the door, taking a deep breath and adjusting a cheerful smile across her face.

"Coffee's ready," she said brightly, striding up the ramp and handing the cup to the Time Lord.

He took it without standing, giving her a nod of thanks. His expression was somber, and she decided immediately that it would be best to leave him alone. She took a step back, saying, "I should turn off the pot—wouldn't want to cause a fire."

He reached for her hand. "Wait, Rose. Sit down."

He offered her a small, encouraging smile.

"I really should see to that pot—"

"TARDIS'll take care of it. She shuts off appliances if they get too hot." He patted the seat. "Sit."

She complied, sinking down beside him, trying to keep the smile on her face. "So, chocolate for supper, yeah? Never done that before."

He nodded. "You'll like it. They make a dry rub for meat, mix it with all sorts of spices."

"Really? I thought it'd just be hot cocoa and brownies."

He grinned thinly. "That's dessert, and only after a proper meal of chocolate meat."

She smiled in earnest at his words.

"And maybe," he continued, his voice dropping just a touch, "after a good meal you'll be able to sleep."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head.

"I know you haven't been sleeping well," he said. "It's not hard to see the signs." Now his gaze was fixed on her, intently enough that she wanted to look away, but something in his eyes held her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm all right. Probably just havin' too much caffeine—"

"That's not it, Rose."

She shrugged rather helplessly. "Little insomnia's not that big a deal. An' you're one to talk—you almost never sleep."

"I do when I need to."

"An' I will, too."

He seemed to consider that for a few moments, then he asked, "How long have you had the headaches?"

"What?" How had he known about that?

He touched her forehead lightly with his fingertips. "When did they start?"

"Just yesterday," she replied softly.

"And how many have you had?"

"Only one."

He frowned. "It's lasted all this time?"

"No, 'course not—"

Now he clasped her hands in his. "Tell me the truth, Rose."

"It's nothin', just a little headache."

"And how often do you get headaches? I mean before you met me."

"Not much."

"And since meeting me?"

"This is the first one, I think."

He nodded gravely. "And the sleep difficulties?" The little quirk of his eyebrow told her that he expected an honest answer.

"Jus' the last few nights."

"Since Jackie's?"

Rose acknowledged this with a small inclination of her chin. "But it's nothin', really. I'm fine."

He placed his palms upon her cheeks, resting the first two fingers of each hand against her temples. Gently he tilted her head so that he could look directly into her eyes.

"Doctor, please, it's nothing—"

"Sshh, let me have a look."

And he did. His eyes seemed to bore into her for several seconds, and she wanted to flinch away, but he held her gaze inexorably, searchingly. Then his hands moved down, fingers pressing lightly at the base of her skull for a few moments.

He pulled his hands away and his eyes lowered. "I'm sorry, Rose."

His voice was deep with sadness, and she knew what he was going to say. She'd been too weak, and he was afraid for her, frightened that she would suffer irreparable harm, and it was time for her to leave, to return to her home where she'd be safe…

"I should've realized it sooner," he was saying.

She forced herself to attend to his words, struggling to formulate a response, something that would convince him to let her stay.

"…forgot what travelling between universes does to humans. My people were literally born for it, genetically predisposed to the task, but even so, we were trained carefully so that we wouldn't suffer any damage in the process. But you lot—" He paused, and she could see that he was trying to choose his words carefully. He had yet to drop the bomb.

"What happens when you make coffee?" he asked rather abruptly.

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Coffee, Rose. It starts out as clear water, just some H2O and nothing else. But when it's done, it's coffee—looks different, smells different, tastes different. It's gone through the filter, picking up all those bits of the oil from the beans, which attach to the water molecules in the process then end up all brown and aromatic and bitter if you aren't careful—"

"I don't understand," Rose interjected. She was anxious for him to make his point and be done with it.

"Well, if you wanted to, you could take the coffee and turn it back into water. You'd just need the right equipment, wouldn't be difficult at all, because even though it's changed, the water's still there."

"Doctor, I don't get what coffee has to do with any of this."

"You don't? Sorry, I didn't make my point very well, did I? You see, the water is like you in your universe, and the coffee is like you in the parallel universe. You had to slip through the filter to get to that other place, and when you did you picked up little bits of space and time that allowed you to fit into that universe, to blend it with it just like a nice cup of coffee is water blended with the coffee beans. But now that you're back in your own universe, it's a little like taking a cup of coffee and using it like water. They aren't completely interchangeable. The water's still in there, but it takes a bit of work to get it back to its natural state."

"So you're sayin' I'm coffee now?"

"Yep."

"Regular or decaf?"

He smiled at that, and Rose began to feel a little of her anxiety slip away.

He continued, "Moving from one universe to the other, then back again, disrupted your body's energy at the cellular level. Your neurons are firing just a bit wrong, the way they would have in the other universe, the way they needed to work there."

"That's why I can't sleep and my head hurts?"

He brushed his fingers across her brow. "Yes. And it's my fault. I should've been aware of it, but it's been such a long time since I did that with a human…"

"How do I get back to normal?"

"Well, there are a couple of options, but the simplest and most enjoyable one is to spend some time in an intermediate space where your energy will naturally stabilize enough so that when you return to this universe your body will readjust on its own."

"What do you mean, an intermediate space?"

"Oh, that's sort of half-way between one universe and another."

"But won't that damage the TARDIS? I mean, it's just now getting' back to normal."

He smiled at her concern for the ship. "Once she's fully recharged, she won't be harmed by the journey. It's only a half-step, not a whole one."

"So what's this intermediate space like? A combination of two universes?"

"Exactly! And you'll love it, I know you will."

She smiled in earnest, relief filling her from head to toe. "So just, what, twelve hours or so?"

He nodded. "In the meantime, let's see what I can do about your headache."

"'S okay. I can manage until we get there."

"But you don't have to."

He took her hand in his, rotating the palm upward. He traced a line from her wrist to the base of her thumb with his index finger then lifted his other hand to her forehead. Simultaneously his finger and his palm pressed over her hand and brow, and she felt a little surge of warmth at the contact sites.

She blinked, eyelids heavy for an instant, and suddenly she realized that her head had slumped forward to rest against his chest. She could hear the beating of his hearts. When she lifted her head, he smiled down at her.

"Better?" he asked simply.

Indeed, the ache was gone, and she wasn't quite as tired. Funny, she had an odd feeling of time passing, of missing something…

She nodded in response to his query, then her eyes wandered to the row of clocks. She squinted for a moment. "How long's it been?" she asked suddenly.

"A couple of hours."

"I fell asleep?"

His expression was a peculiar mix of smugness and guilt. "You were tired, Rose—still are, but you'll be able to rest once we've landed."

"Did you sit here with me the whole time?"

"Where else would I go?"

"Thank you."

"Any time."

Rose stood and stretched. Suddenly she realized that she was hungry. She hadn't felt any real desire to eat in several days, and the gnawing at her stomach was almost startling.

"So," she said, "s'pose the planet with all the chocolate's out now."

"Yep. But I know of some other nice places that'll just fit the bill."

"Will the food be any good?"

"You feeling hungry?"

"Starved."

The Doctor grinned. "Glad to hear it." Standing, he said, "I have a couple of adjustments to make here, but we should be ready to land in a few hours."

He bent over the console, and Rose settled back in the seat, content to watch him tinker until they could travel once again.

* * *

_To be concluded in Chapter 3... Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

It was twilight when they stepped out of the TARDIS and into a pretty little village. Rose thought it resembled photos she'd seen of France; gray stone buildings lined the cobbled streets that wound through the hilly community. The Doctor escorted Rose to a charming inn, where he secured a room for her, explaining that she needed to stay in the village to benefit fully from the effects of its location.

They strolled along for a while until they found a small bistro with enticing aromas. They enjoyed a sumptuous supper of roast fowl, vegetables, fresh salad, crusty bread, and chocolate soufflé for dessert. The Doctor ordered a bottle of wine, too, which was light, fruity, and delicious. Rose was sated and sleepy by the time the waiter brought their bill.

As they walked back to the inn, she asked, "Is this like a parallel France?"

"Yep. You like it?"

Rose nodded. "'S beautiful. But I thought we'd end up in some sorta London-ish place."

"We could have, but I thought you'd enjoy this more. The exact destination in the parallel world doesn't matter so much as being in the universe. And there's less chance here of meeting anyone we might recognize, so it's safer in that sense."

She yawned; she was feeling terribly tired, and suddenly the short journey to the inn felt like miles and miles. She sighed, a sound born partially of deep fatigue and partially of deep content. The Doctor slid his arm around her waist and hugged her to his side, providing her just enough support to see her safely back to the inn.

By the time they reached her room, Rose was half-asleep against him. She felt peacefully groggy and utterly safe in his arms. He guided her to the bed, and she was vaguely aware of him removing her shoes and easing her back against the pillows. She was asleep before he'd tucked the comforter up under her chin.

* * *

He hadn't taken a room for himself. Initially the Doctor had planned to return to the TARDIS; he was perfectly happy to spend the night there. But Rose's exhaustion concerned him just enough to prompt him to settle into the love seat across from the bed and remain with her through the night.

He could hear her soft, even breathing. That eased his worry a bit. For a long time he sat quietly, just listening to her, eyes moving from her serene face, dimly illuminated in the moonlight, to the night sky beyond the window. This was a peaceful place—the ideal setting for Rose's current needs. After a time, the Doctor felt a gentle wave of tranquility wash over him, and he permitted his eyes to close.

They shot open some time later when Rose moaned softly in her sleep. Her expression had changed; beneath a thin sheen of perspiration, her brow was furrowed, and her eyes moved rapidly under her lids. She had thrashed about sufficiently to move the blankets, and her hands were clenched into fists. She was breathing heavily now.

He heaved himself up; he was tired, too, but that was of no consequence. He eased his body down onto the mattress to sit beside her, stroking her forehead and cheek with his fingertips. He was almost surprised to find his other hand resting over her heart. He couldn't remember placing it there… But each hurried beat reverberated through him, reminding him that he had allowed this to happen to her. Granted, it wasn't intentional; but then it never was, was it?

He could take the nightmare from her, remove it entirely and gently ease the memories away. He debated that small course of action for a few moments, but as his fingers continued to caress her face he felt her heart slowing. Her expression softened as she slipped back into dream-free sleep. Even so, he kept his hands where they were. He thought that the contact might prove calming to her. Humans seemed to derive comfort from such simple things, even the merest touch.

Rose's skin was warm and flushed, but after a few minutes she felt cooler. Her heart thumped steadily beneath his palm, eighty-four beats per minute by his almost unconscious count. That was a bit fast for a human female in a resting state, but her body had not quite regained its normal rhythms yet. He waited quietly a little longer, and her heart slowed incrementally. As her skin grew even cooler, he moved his hands to pull the blanket up around her shoulders again.

She inhaled sharply, and he thought that perhaps she was aware at some level that he'd taken his hands away from her. He settled back against the headboard then wrapped his fingers lightly around her hand. Rose exhaled gently, and her mouth softened into a tiny smile.

* * *

The sun upon her face was warm and bright, but Rose resisted opening her eyes for some time. She was so comfortable, so relaxed… But she was also hungry. It was the rumbling in her stomach that finally roused her to full alertness. She opened her eyes to the pretty blue and yellow paisley pattern that adorned the walls and linens.

"Good morning, sleepy head," the Doctor's voice greeted her from the love seat. He sounded cheery, almost too much so.

Rose sat up and yawned. "Mornin'," she replied. "What're you doin' in here?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Just waiting for you to wake up so we can get some breakfast. Though I think we'll probably have to make that lunch now."

She frowned. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven."

She blinked in surprise. "I've been asleep—"

"Fourteen hours," he finished, and all the cheeriness had left his tone. "How are you feeling?"

Rose swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "A little sleepy, but otherwise good."

"No headache?"

She shook her head. The Doctor stood and walked over to her. He tipped her chin up so that he could look into her eyes.

"Better," he said simply. He granted her a smile. "You hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'll wait for you in the boulangerie across the street."

He left her sitting on the bed. She granted herself another minute to soak in the sunshine and the colours and the fragrance of the bright bouquet sitting on the night table. Funny, she didn't recall seeing that yesterday… But it was lovely, and she felt warm and content. Vague remembrances of bad dreams dissipated in the sweet-smelling air, and Rose realized that tender memories had suffused her deep, aching loneliness and sense of loss. Of course she still missed Mickey, but she understood now that he was happy and would thrive in a place where he had a true purpose. 

She walked to the window and watched the Doctor saunter across the narrow, cobbled street. She smiled; she couldn't wait to join him.

* * *

His fondness for the human heart had not faded. He still loved the way it worked and its terribly functional design. His hearts were so complicated, so intricate in their coordinated efficiency. He could still remember the feel of her single heartbeat against his palm. It was strong, and he knew it would endure.

The Doctor looked up from the table to see Rose crossing the street. She appeared content and relaxed. He was glad she'd believed his ruse; it made things just a bit easier. She would never need to know that he'd brought her to a small village in the heart of Bourgogne, in early twenty-first century France, on her very own Earth. He had to suppress a smile as he recalled the coffee analogy he'd invented to convince her that her surge of emotions was due to the effects of their travel rather than her loss. He hadn't lied completely, of course. Traversing universes had left her slightly out of sync, which probably contributed a touch to her overall condition. But in reality, the loss of her friend had been the primary cause of her malaise.

Thinking about it now, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd felt the need to lie to her. The tale had come to him in an instant, and he'd blurted it out. Yet it had assuaged her, and now she was rested and well. Some small deceptions, he decided, could be forgiven.

She smiled warmly as she entered the boulangerie. Perhaps it was the aroma of freshly baked brioche, or perhaps it was the sight of row upon row of delicate pastries that prompted her grin. But when she saw him, her smile widened, and he understood what made her happy.

He really did love the fragile, breakable, tough, supple, wonderful human heart—Rose's most of all.

* * *


End file.
